13 Days of Darkstar
by Invader-Hime
Summary: A Collection of One Shots done for a personal Halloween challenge. All stories center around Darkstar/Mike Morningstar. Some angst, fluff, DarkCaster, and more. All written in October 2008.
1. Sanctuary

Sanctuary

By Chibi Hime

Disclaimer: Ben 10 belongs to Cartoon Network. I know you know that...just letting you know I do too.

He doesn't know who the woman in his arms is.

He doesn't know why she came back to his room. She doesn't even know who he is. She hasn't seen his face. Though, he supposes that is good. She wouldn't come back with him if she saw his face...or his hands...or any other part of him.

All in all..he's not even sure where she came from. All he knows is she's some kind of energy medium. That's all he needs to know.

Her hair is long and white. She's trim and petite. He can wrap his hands around her corseted waist. He has. Her hands wander more than his do. It does something in his head...it makes him forget for a few seconds. It makes him forget just who and what she is. It makes him forget who and what he is.

Her hands are quick. They ease up his neck. Her dainty fingers curl under his helmet and slowly start to lift it up.

Then he remembers.

He quickly grips her hands in his.

Her magenta eyes flicker impishly.

"Oh, I see...like it better with it on? So much more mysterious?" she giggles.

"Something like that. It is much better for you this way," he says simply.

No need for unnecessary gory details.

"So you say...but you know what, you just made me want to look under there twice as much," she purrs, her voice almost feline.

"You don't want to do that," he says, sure of himself.

She doesn't like that one bit.

He feels her energy spike at his impudent questioning of her judgement. She clearly doesn't like being told what to do. Slowly, he releases his grip on her hands.

This time, she reaches under his helmet and feels the dry, dead skin there before she takes his helmet off. He inhales sharply as the cool air hits his face. It has been days since he took it off. Even he can't stand the sight of himself.

He keeps his eyes open. He wants to see her reaction...he wants to see her repulsion. He wants his own sense of secret self-loathing to be justified.

There isn't much of a response from her. Her eyes widen, but only for a second. The corner of her lip twitches, but it doesn't pull back into a squeal of disgust. She maintains her composure and even seems to convey an air that indicates she expected something worse. He knows it takes every ounce of her willpower not to shrink away from him. His own mother couldn't put a single well manicured finger on him after...after his conditioned worsened. She couldn't bring herself to touch her living dead boy.

He's not sure what's worse than looking at a corpse this close, but he doesn't look too far into it. He's distracted by her. Welcomely distracted by her.

He likes a strong woman. He always has.

She's as strong as they come.

Strong like Gwen was.

She is no different...in fact...he likes her better.

She doesn't emit that sissy, pure life energy Mana nonsense. Hers is a darker energy...a self serving one. She doesn't care about the planet or her friends. She doesn't have any. He can tell. All she cares about is herself. She exudes an ridiculous amount of energy that tells him a lot about her, like a food wrapper displaying its contents and percentages to a consumer...including a few obscene things.

Correction, he likes her much better.

However...he's still not sure why she's still here.

He's not complaining.

Her hands return to where they were on his neck. They carefully move over his taut, grey skin with an ethereal grace...like they want to. Like they want to drive him mad with want and need.

"You have very pretty eyes," she says breathily, blowing hot breath on his face. She momentarily cups his cheek in her hand..

Then she shoves herself roughly against him without warning, knocking him backwards onto the bed of his room. He's taller than her and standing up, she just couldn't reach...but she'd never tell him that.

He feels her weight on top of him...feels her hands tightly grip onto a two patches of his faded hair. She crushes her plump lips down on his nonexistant ones. It pushes his mind upside down and something explodes in his ears. She wriggles and writhes against him. He can feel her through his clothes. He doesn't know how or why she's even doing this. He doesn't even know her real name and she doesn't know his. She'd better stop if she...well...he'll give her a fair warning. When she came up for air, he tried to.

"Stop...you don't...want.."

She jams her tongue into his mouth to silence him, then pulls it back.

"Yes I do. So do you. You are begging for it! Don't tell me you don't want it, Michael," she says in a way that conveys he couldn't get her to stop if he tried.

He cringes. It doesn't feel like it is his name anymore. He feels like someone...something else. But to her, he's still Michael.

Apparently, she does know his real name and that's kind of nice.

She's just full of surprises. That is nice too, in a whole other way. He can't wait to see what other surprises he is in for. He really doesn't have to wait long to find out.

She's asleep now. Her breaths are deep and satisfied. He is laying awake watching her...watching her chest rise and fall. He wore her out more than he meant to, but he doesn't mind. She'll be asleep for at least a day, recovering from the loss of energy that he carefully leeched off of her. He suspects she knew he was doing it, but chose not to say anything. She's something special, alright.

To be honest, she exhausted him too, in a different way. He's not complaining about it, though. He can't remember the last time he even...wait...yes he does, he just chooses to forget. It hurts to much. It hurts to look in the mirror and not see anything remotely like his face and have it still be him.

It was a nightmare, those weeks following the incident with the Tennysons and their low bred companion....he remembers it all too well. He degenerated with each passing day. Eyes sinking, skin drying, and hair falling out. Every day there was someone else in the mirror looking back at him. He has watched himself die and the only feeling he had was a terrible, aching hunger that tore at his insides.

It hurts to think about and to remember.

He's ashamed of himself, but he'd never admit it.

It is easier to put up a front than to wallow in despair.

He can't help but wrap his cadaver-like arms around her. He pulls her warm body close to him. He just wants to feel it a little longer, the warmth of another human being...a female human being. Her skin is soft against him. It is like sleeping with a living pillow. It is comforting, to be this close to another person. For the first time in weeks, the hunger isn't tearing him up inside. He was careful with her. He might have taken more than he meant to, but that didn't mean he wasn't careful. He didn't want her to fade like the others. He wanted her to stay with him as she was.

She is still there.

He presses his sunken face against the back of her head and inhales the scent of her hair.

Sage and Lavender with just a hint of her sweat.

Wonderful. It is the best combination of scents in the world to him right now.

He closes his eyes and drifts into darkness beside her, her scent filling his skeletal nostrils.

For a few hours he is able to forget...able to be free..to be Michael...for a few hours.


	2. Human Nature

Human Nature

By Chibi Hime

His father was a Plumber and his mother was a housewife.

He never thought anything of it.

His father died mysteriously when he was six. He doesn't remember him much. It isn't in his nature to. His species doesn't form bonds like that. If a family member dies, they move on. They don't mean to be cruel, it is just their nature.

Likewise, his mother taught him to hunt so her offspring would be able to fend for itself should something happen to her. He was an apt pupil. She knew he would be. He favored her heavily, so heavily, that she saw no need to treat him as anything less than a purebreed. Little Michael was sneaky and stealthy. He smiled and said "please" and "thank you." No one was ever the wiser when strange bites would appear on their arms. It was harmless then, when he was small. They might itch for a few days, but they eventually dried up and faded away, no harm done.

It was no longer that simple.

He was a withered husk now...a grotesque monstrosity...he looked like a rotted corpse and he knew it.

When it first started, he limped home and licked his wounds.

He shut himself away in the guest house.

His mother rarely came to see him as she had her own feeding to do and her own life to lead. Mike didn't have to worry about her finding him, at least not for a few days. He had hoped he would be better by then.

He wasn't. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

He pulled all the curtains shut, unplugged all the lights, and snuffed every candle. The darkness made it harder to see what he knew was happening....what he felt happening. He had curled up in a corner and grabbed fist fulls of his hair...only to have it fall out in his hands and flutter down in a nightmarish cascade. There wasn't much left...a few small sprigs here and there on his scalp.

He never shaved his head. It would have probably looked better if he did...but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was his hair...what if it didn't grow back? He was only seventeen. Thinking about it made his head hurt.

His species didn't care what it looks like, not really.

At least they were not supposed to.

They only used their appearances to lure in food. They would have mourned the loss of their ability to attract high quality sustenance...not the looks themselves. Mike wasn't like that. He found himself worrying about his future, how he can't stand looking in the mirror...or any reflective surface for that matter. He broke all the mirrors in the guest house out of despair. That's not something a purebreed would ever do.

He realized that as soon as he did it.

He was afraid, then, of those implications.

His mother had cast him out upon discovering him, of course. He was a threat to her in his corrupted state. He jeopardized her secret identity and her ability to feed. Her actions were not out of cruelty, but out of self preservation. She was still young by her species' standards. She could still have another, untainted child. She probably would.

He didn't hate her for that. He knew she only did what was in her nature...but part of him hated her for blindly following her nature, for not being human...being compassionate....but she wasn't human, so why had he expected it?

Because part of him was human.

Only now did he see that and only now did he curse it.

If he didn't have his father's humanity, he wouldn't understand the horrible nature of what had happened to him. He wouldn't think about the long, lonely road ahead of him. No one would have him now. He was hideous. Hideous people were ostracized. He was terribly vain, another human trait. Mike was ashamed of the cadaverous pallor he had...the way he felt...all of it. His skin now burned easily in sunlight and he had to relegate his activities to the darkness. The irony was not lost on him. It made him want to curl into a ball and die. For weeks, he had hidden in his father's old Plumber's base.

His mother felt no shame, no embarrassment. He did. It was a crippling set of emotions. Emotions he had never been taught to understand or comprehend because his remaining parent didn't have them.

There's something else about human nature he discovered.

Humans were vengeful to the point of sadism, given the right circumstances.

It gave a ruined, worthless being something to do...something to look forward to. He lost himself in the consuming darkness of it..only to have his hunger return with a vengeance. Mike needed more than ever just to walk. His appearance no longer changed when he did. He was stuck a fetid living dead man. No one wanted to get close to something that looks like death itself, but infinitely worse as it was alive.

His life was gone...any hopes he had for the future were all dashed.

When he was six, the last thing he had said to his father was that he wanted to be like him.

He never said he wanted to be a vampiric homunculus.

Fate had a way of turning dreams into nightmares.

But that was just in its nature.


	3. Going Out

Going Out

By Chibi Hime

"I'm bored. I want to go out," Charmcaster whined.

The witch lay on the bed, fully clothed, with her head and arms dangling off the side of the mattress. She made her lips pout and looked across the room for Michael's response. He was crouched over his desk working at something she didn't know or care about.

Mike didn't do much of anything in response, just shrugged and answered.

"Go right ahead,"

He didn't see why she needed permission. She came and went as she pleased anyway, why now?

"Not by myself, dummy. That's boring," she rolled her eyes and grumbled.

Mike rolled his eyes, glad he had his back to her. She was such an overgrown child sometimes. He wasn't about to tell her so. He liked having someone around...even if she could be grating...she was still someone who was real. A real person beat imaginary friends any day. Besides, when she wasn't around, the lamp said very bad things about her.

"Will you come with me?" she asked innocently.

He knew that voice and the face she was making even though he didn't bother to turn around. She was pursing her lips and blinking slowly. It was her "I want it, Mike, get it for me" face. Normally, he could get whatever she wanted. He had a substantial bank account and a trust fund for later use. This wasn't something money could buy. He knew that because he'd looked into it already.

"No," he answered simply.

"But I want you to come with me!"

He heard her get up and shuffle around.

"Please?" she asked, softer.

"No," he answered sternly.

"Why?"

"It isn't Halloween," Mike said dryly.

He was not going to say it. He was not going to say what he was really thinking.

"Oh...I see," Charmcaster said quietly.

He heard her shuffling, reaching for her bag on the nightstand.

She sounded like she honestly didn't think about it. Mike can't imagine her not being able to think about it. It is all he thinks about, well, other than his maddening hunger...and...her.

"May I try something? See...I've been working on something for usssyou," she mumbled.

"Sure. You know you don't need to ask permission to do magic in here. You live here too, Charmcaster,"

_You live here too._

He was still getting used to the idea that she was there. Charmcaster seemed to settle in immediately and there were traces of her all around the newly refurbished former Plumber's base he had cobbled into a makeshift domicile. Even though he knew it should bother him that he had no idea how they had originally met or why she had ever followed him home, he found he didn't care. He just liked having someone there.

Mike was brought back to the present when he felt a small rock hit him squarely in the back of the head between patches of hair. He frowned and rubbed the sore spot it left.

He felt the stone land on his boot. Glancing down, he saw it glowed purple for an instant before unfolding into some kind of insect. It crawled up his leg and torso the the place where his sleeve ended and his glove began. Its eyes glowed purple again before jamming its stinger into his taut, tender skin. He screwed his eyes shut.

It burned...it burned like fire for an instant, then it stopped and the bug on his wrist crumbled to dust. Mike shrugged and stood up. His hand didn't look any different. It was still withered and bony. Mike wondered what exactly Charmcaster's spell was supposed to do. He heard her light footsteps behind him.

"Michael?" she asked tentatively.

He turned around.

"Well...what was that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Charmcaster's jaw fell flat and her eye widened.

"Oh...," seemed to be all she could manage.

"Oh...WOW,"

"Oh...Oh...WOW!" Charmaster managed to whisper.

Her hand was at her lips and she smiled broadly to herself.

Not bad, not bad at all.

She looked Mike up and down. A perfect simulation. The hair, the facial expressions...it was perfect. It was the first time she had ever used a glamour spell on anyone other than herself and she was quite pleased with the results.

Mike on the other hand, had no idea what she looked so smug about. He still looked and felt exactly the same, albeit with a sore spot on his wrist.

"What was in that? It didn't do anything. Looks like you need a little more practice. Maybe you should stay in and work on it," he countered.

Charmcaster squealed.

"Not in a million years...come'ere!" she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bathroom. She yanked the cover off the one mirror that had escaped his wrath a few months ago.

"Ta-Da! Insta-you-don't-have-any-excuse-not-to-take-me-out-tonight! Am I good or what?" she beamed.

Mike started at his reflection. He saw stars...he felt faint. Staring back at him was a face he never thought he would see again. It was his own, his real face. The creamy skin, the aqua blue yes, the cheekbones...everything. It was all there. It was Mike Morningstar...not...not Darkstar.

Mike felt his knees quaking beneath him. He braced himself on the sink and stared forward disbelievingly. Charmcaster noticed and her bubbly demeanor grew quiet.

"Are you okay? I mean, I'm sorry if it...I don't know, I just found this picture shoved in a closet and...I..don't know, thought he was cute...and maybe you wouldn't mind being him if we were out..there, you know? I know I shouldn't have gone through things that weren't mine...I know it was stupid. Look, I'm sorry if I did something that-"

Charmcaster didn't get to finish. She sound herself crushed in a fierce embrace. Despite his withered appearance, Mike was unnaturally strong. She gasped at the pressure and he moved to hold her a different way that didn't involve actually letting go. Charmcaster felt his skeletal hands brushing through her hair and his face buried in her shoulder. Mike's shoulders shuddered.

"Oh, man...you're crying? I'm so sor-"

Charmcaster was cut off again when Mike suddenly pressed his thin lips against hers. It was bizarre...he still felt the same to her but he looked...eerily handsome. The peachy hand that cupped the back of her head still felt like a bony claw.

She couldn't actually change things, not big things like this. She wasn't that powerful yet. All she could do was pull a cover over things...and then for only three hours at a time. Mike seemed to sense her train of thought, which he seemed to do at an alarming rate these days. He pulled back and pressed his handsome (hollow) cheek against hers.

"How long?" he asked shakily.

"Three hours," Charmcaster answered.

He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.

"Thank you," he wheezed.

Charmcaster nodded, unable to think of the proper thing to say and afraid anything she said would only sound stupid in hindsight.

He did take her out.

Not before she dressed him properly, of course. It was nice to be fawned over, it had been a long time since anyone had taken the time to make sure his socks matched his blazer.

Nothing fancy.

She didn't want anything fancy, she suddenly wasn't in the mood.

He didn't want anything fancy either, but that was because he didn't want to run into anyone familiar.

It was so strange on so many levels.

It was so mundane. The two of them at a little independent Mexican bistro with live music. The waitress made eyes at him until he reached across the table to hold Charmcaster's hand. It seemed to foreign to him, now, the thought that anyone could find him attractive. He found it unsettling now. He didn't let go until dinner came, but he couldn't attribute that to making his point clear.

It was fun to just be out with people, even if every shout or whoop from a nearby table made him nervous that his disguise had somehow worn off early. He still looked the same to himself- gaunt and ugly, but the face that stared back at him from the water in his glass was golden and handsome. Nothing to worry about.

They took their time.

Dinner gave way to fried ice cream and then to awkward dancing and stumbling out of the place with less than ten minutes left on the clock.

They walked home together.

It was nice.

When it did wear off, Charmcaster didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say. Not that she thought she could say, anyway. From his perspective, Mike felt the same way. There wasn't anything different about him, not really.

The silence was almost painful.

Charmcaster, unable to take it anymore broke it.

"I did it for fun. I don't need it, not really," she said.

It was awkward and poorly phrased, but she meant it, even if she could not look at him without crying right then. Charmcaster stared forward and sniffed audibly.

She felt a strong, sharp grip pinch her shoulder and she looked up and tried not to shudder, afraid it would be taken the wrong way. She looked up at Mike...at his sunken eyes and taut features. It wasn't anything like she had made him look like with her glamour spell, but that wasn't real. That wasn't Mike. This was Mike. The Mike she knew and liked and annoyed.

With a sob, she buried her face in his chest.

"I don't need it," she insisted, shaking her head.

She felt his cold arms wrap around her comfortingly.

He whispered something into her hair.

"I know,"


	4. What Doesn't Kill Him

What Doesn't Kill Him

By Chibi Hime

_Michael._

A random thought pierced the darkness of his mind.

He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to stay in the limbo world of sleep where there was no hunger and there were no mirrors.

_Michael. _

A name in the darkness, a bit more insistent this time. It sounded like his name, it felt familiar enough to be his name...but it wasn't not anymore...right?

There was no Michael. He had told himself that. Michael was dead, he'd never exist again. That star had burned out, leaving only Darkstar, a physical manifestation of all that was ugly and all that was pain and hunger, a blight upon the planet, an anomaly of nature.

_A monster._

Some hideous, monstrous thing that had no redeeming value.

But...Michael had possessed value...so why didn't he? Weren't they the same person?

He felt sick to his stomach.

Michael didn't have any real value, not really. No friends, no love interest, nothing. There wasn't anyone to miss him. Darkstar didn't have any of those either. No one in their right mind would miss something as ghoulish as him anyway. Monsters existed to be isolated, to point out how much better everyone else was, to be stopped,to be killed. That was all they were good for. They were there to make people feel good about themselves.

Heroes weren't so great. They weren't much better than monsters, but the world loved them.

He knew that now, now after he had faced them again.

Even they had been repulsed by what he was. Even they mocked him.

Despite his increased strength, they stopped him.

He wished they'd killed him.

He has learned something since their last encounter. It frightened him even now as he is held in partial cryostasis by the Plumber.

What doesn't kill him makes him stronger.

The last time he faced the three of them, he had become this...this thing!

He could already feel parts of him shifting and changing again, even with his metabolism slowed to a crawl in captivity. It made his mind scream in despair even though he couldn't make a sound.

He was afraid of the future and the horrifying prospects that lay ahead of him.

If there was any hope at all, perhaps there was some greater monster in the Null Void that could do the job heroes couldn't. Maybe then he could sleep in the darkness forever and never wake up.


	5. Passion:Hunger

Passion/Hunger

By Chibi Hime

Mike has been noticing a lot of things over the past few years.

One of them is how hunger and passion are an awful lot alike, sometimes even a little too close for comfort. He finds he has similar tastes in both. So far, it hasn't been a problem. He just keeps the two in separate categories in his mind and pulls back when things get a little intense. There are a few things he's afraid he'd like a little too much.

He likes things that wriggle.

That's the first one. When he feeds, he likes it when the meal puts up a struggle. He can feel its fear and pain in the energy he steals from it. He's sucking its life out and it makes him drunk on power. He likes the idea that is actually trying to escape, it makes a nice friction between their energies that makes his heart race.

The same thing goes for passion.

He likes it when Charmcaster wriggles against him in bed, wrapped in black silken sheets. He likes putting his hand on her throat and closing it. Not enough to hurt her, just enough to feel the energy there. To feel it coursing through her. Knowing it is there and not taking it drives him mad with desire. It makes him feel everything more because of the wild sensation of knowing what is underneath her skin. It makes everything a game, a personal challenge. Mike likes challenges. They make him excited, maybe for all the wrong reasons, but this is passion, not hunger, so he doesn't think about it too much. She gives him as much energy as she can without hurting herself. He appreciates that, more than she'll ever know.

He likes beautiful things.

He'd rather drink the heady, intoxicating energy that rolls off of Charmcaster than a DNAlien, but that isn't always possible. He wants her around for the long haul, DNAliens are a dime a dozen, the Highbreed don't seem to notice when two or three go missing. They wriggle a lot. They cry out a lot. He likes that.

He knows Charmcaster can get handsomer, so why she stays with him is a mystery, but he likes it. It makes it more like a game and he likes those. Why? Why? Why? He doesn't know and most of the time, he doesn't care. She's beautiful and she's always there when he wants/needs her. Even he finds it funny how often those two coincided. Months ago, he convinced himself that he would die alone. Now, he is not so sure. He likes the element of chaos she keeps in his life.

He likes honesty, ironically.

He likes it when his prey can see what's coming for them. He doesn't do much sneaking. He does what he does right there and then. He doesn't creep around dark alleys like some two bit thug.

He likes it when she looks at him. She's the only one who does, the only one he lets. Mike doesn't even let himself do that. He knows what he looks like. He likes that sometimes her face twitches when he's close to her. She's only human. He likes that. Humans have free will. She's not a doll or a zombie. He's never used that kind of bite on her. He's used his old method on her a few times, but never enough to influence her. He is intrigued by her. She amazes him. Not only does she let him get close to her and touch her, but she does the same back.

She makes him hungry for more of her, but he always pulls himself back, keeps his hunger in check. He can't let passion and hunger mix, no matter how similar they are.


	6. Date Night

Date Night

By Chibi Hime

Jason Murray stood on the front stoop for a solid five minutes before ringing the bell. He had to take in the sprawling mansion and its landscaping. It was the first time he had ever had to drive up to a house. His little car looked somewhat pathetic next to all the grandeur. Part of him wondered why Celeste had even bothered to say yes to someone like him when she could clearly get better. He knew she went to some exclusive prep school, which is why he had only met her at the local comic shop where he was working. The girl liked horror comics about zombies and vampires...and an occasional witch, especially if any combination of those three were in love with each other. It had caught his interest, they had started a conversation, and the rest was history.

When he finally did ring the bell, he could hear fast footsteps on the other side of the door. It quickly swung open and there was platinum blonde, blue eyed Celeste blinking her large eyes at him.

"Jason! Hi! I'm so glad you're here early! Mom and Dad haven't left for their date yet! You can meet them!"

Before he had a say in the matter, she had pulled him inside. She was a lot stronger than she looked. Jason noticed a tattoo on her shoulder he hadn't noticed before, a black, spangled star.

"Nice ink," he commented.

She blushed.

"My Dad took me to get it done. He only let me get it after I told him what I wanted," Celeste explained.

"He sounds cool. I wish my old man would let me get one done," Jason commented.

"He's the best!" Celeste chirped.

She led him to the kitchen where there was an attractive, white haired woman in her early forties making something particularly smoky. She seemed to be doing it dressed in evening wear.

"Mom, this is Jason," Celeste introduced him and Jason nodded.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Morningstar," he said.

The woman turned around and frowned.

"Hun, you know your father doesn't like to have company before he has his face on. I forgot we were out of spell stones and I've been working on a last minute one. You know that,"

Jason pondered that for a moment. A little eccentric, but most rich people were. Nothing to worry about.

"Daddy doesn't mind," Celeste chirped.

"No, I don't,"

A deep, smooth voice said behind them. Jason turned around and instinctively extended his hand, just like he'd practiced. When he saw what exactly was behind them, his mouth went dry and the blood drained from his face. His hand slacked, but he didn't have the power to pull it back, which was a good thing, as it was soon closed in a vise-like grip that seemed to strain his bones. Jason swallowed audibly. He kept the comment about seeing where Celeste got her good looks to himself.

"Daddy! Daddy, this is Jason, he's taking me out to the movies tonight," Celeste said cheerfully.

Daddy. Daddy? This...this thing was Daddy? The witch was Mommy? Suddenly her interest in such outlandish comics suddenly seemed to make sense. Jason suddenly felt he was on an episode of The Twilight Zone.

"N-Nice to meet you, Mr. Morningstar. I've heard a lot about you," Jason managed, his words slipping out as dry, hoarse whispers.

Mr. Morningstar leaned in close to Jason's face.

"I'll bet you have," he said slickly.

"Dear, don't scare the boy. I'm sorry Jason, he likes to do that," Mrs. Morningstar said without even looking away from her work.

"Nonsense, I like to meet all Celeste's dates face to face," Mr. Morningstar said, eyes never leaving Jason.

Jason nodded nervously as he felt the older man's heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Sparkle Muffin? Why don't you go help your mother so we won't be late for our reservation? It is our anniversary," he offered.

With a bob and a smile, Celeste went to help the elegant lady across the room.

Jason felt the bony fingers on his shoulder grip him tightly.

"If you do anything to make it so that my little Sparklekins doesn't have anything other than a fantastic time, I will hunt you down like a dog, drain you dry of every ounce of energy you have and dump your festering corpse where no one will ever find it,"

Jason believed every word the...man said. He didn't doubt a syllable.

"N-no problem, M...M...Mr. Morningstar," he nodded.

Mr. Morningstar's face brightened, as much as a face like his could. He smiled and the result was very unsettling to Jason.

"Great! I'm glad we understand each other. Thanks for listening to an old man,"

He smacked Jason's back sharply. Jason swallowed again, smiling uneasily.

Celeste brought her father a glass of purple liquid.

"Here you go, Daddy," she bubbled.

"Thanks, Sparkle Muffin!" he said, before downing the draught.

Jason blinked dumbly.

The grey skinned ghoul was gone, replaced by a blonde haired, blue eyed man who patted Celeste on the head affectionately.

"That's my girl. You run along with Jason and have fun. Remember?"

"Home before ten!" Celeste said smiling.

"Good girl. Go that Jason? I don't want my daughter turning into a pumpkin," he added.

Jason nodded. After the way the evening had turned, part of Jason wouldn't be surprised if she would.

"I got it, sir,"

"Good. You kids have fun now. The Mrs. and I will see you off,"

It was the most surreal thing Jason had ever experienced. He and Celeste were buckled in their seats and were pulling down the driveway with the witch and the ghoul in disguise waving after them and smiling.

Celeste turned to Jason as they drove down the street.

"That went really well. Daddy likes you already,"

"Really, that's good," Jason tried to sound positive.

What was her father like when he didn't like someone?

Jason had a new life goal as of that moment.

Never find out.


	7. Dead Man Walking

Dead Man Walking

By Chibi Hime

"Who is he, Michael? The boy in the picture? The one I based your disguise on, you know? Who is he?" she asked, magenta eyes alight with a spark of curiosity.

He knew she would ask that someday. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to pour out his feelings to someone who cared, to someone who could love him for what he is without longing for what he was. She's never known him as anything but the disgusting abomination he is now. She could love that, even if he could not. That's fine. He doesn't love that. He was not even sure if he was capable of loving someone else at all, but she comes close. What he felt for the mana witch was the closest thing he's ever felt to love and he would not risk that for the world, not even for his own peace of mind.

"He's dead," Darkstar answered, voice devoid of any real emotion though his voice was strained by a phantom pain in his throat.

Charmcaster's face was suddenly alert.

"Did you know him?" she asked.

"We were very close. He was family,"

Her eyes clouded up for a moment. They did that sometimes, usually when he was in some kind of pain or anguish, when it was something she could not fix. He knew why, the energy he drained out of her explained what she felt a lot better than words ever could. It made her feel powerless, as an energy manipulating witch, that was never a good thing.

"I'm so sorry. If I'd have known, I never would have..." she started.

"No, it's fine. No harm done. Honest. Sometimes its nice to see that face again," he reassured her. He took her hand in his gloved one and rubbed it soothingly.

Why couldn't he have met her a year ago? Back when he was still Mike Morningstar. If he had, he wouldn't...no...he probably would be. He just liked to imagine things would have been different. A year ago, he would have drained her without a thought and left her to die. He couldn't imagine doing that now...now that he knew what it was to have no one. To the world, Michael Morningstar no longer existed, he was dead, erased from the universe.

But not really.

He was still there, every now and again.

He was there when Darkstar forgot who he was now.

He was there when she took his hand and kissed him. He was there when her fingers touched his dry cheek and he found he wanted to buy her everything she ever wanted.

Those things made Darkstar forget he was a dead man.


	8. Untitled

Untitled

By Chibi Hime

The green Mustang rolled over the dark highway, its two passengers on the way home for the night. There weren't any other cars on the road and the full moon lit the pavement with an eerie silver glow.

Gwen held a small inspirational incense burner in her lap, a souvenir Kevin had bought her at the museum earlier in the evening. Several japanese characters spelled out a saying about a grateful heart attracting others. She felt its cool surface with her finger tips before tucking it into her purse. She looked up at the car's driver.

"Thanks for taking me to the calligraphy exhibit Kevin, I really appreciate it,"

Kevin, eyes on the road, shrugged.

"Sure, you want it you got it,"

Gwen smiled.

"What was your favorite saying out of all the ones we saw?"

"Aww...they were all good I guess, but one made me think of you,"

Gwen caught the blush on his cheeks and smiled.

"Which one?" she asked playfully.

"The one about it taking a beautiful heart to recognize the beauty in the world around them. It really made me think of you, you know?"

"You're so sweet, Kevin," Gwen said.

She leaned over to kiss his cheek when Kevin inhaled sharply and slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop and Gwen jerked back and forth in her seat, hitting her head on the side of the door. She fell against the seat and heard glass break and felt Kevin's large hand on her cheek as the world faded to black.

When she came to, Gwen found that she was in a bed that wasn't her own. Remembering the swerving car and the accident, her eyes flew open and she bolted up.

"Kevin?" she called out.

Then a crashing pain echoed in her skull. It throbbed and pulsed, causing her to ease herself back down. Slowly, she eased an eye open to take in her surroundings. She was in a decently furnished room. Nothing too fancy, but nothing too dingy either. The bed she was on had a golden, silk comforter that was cool ad slippery. It felt good against her injured head.

"Easy now. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself any more than you already have,"

Gwen froze. That voice sent a chill up her spine. It echoed off of itself and sounded as if every word were pulled out of its owner's throat by force, scratchy and ill suited to communication. She hadn't even noticed anyone or anything in the room with her.

"Surprised? Don't be. Not too many people look up the first time around,"

Gwen looked up at the ceiling and immediately wished she hadn't.

There was something...something clinging to the ceiling. It seemed to regard her for a moment before it dropped to the foot of the bed from a string of webbing and actually landed on the mattress a few inches from her feet. She stared at its feet for a moment before her eyes traveled up its ankles and she noticed it was wearing torn blue pants.

Gwen didn't know what to do. Her stomach rolled with nausea seeing it so close. The creature had an ashen pallor. Its skin was pulled too tight across its bones, which seemed to jut out at odd angles across its body. Its eyes were jet black, beady and rarely blinked. Its brain was exposed, she could actually see that its skull had cracked open...almost pulled apart to make way for the expanded grey matter. Its skull, not its face, also had taut skin barely covering it. Spines dotted its forehead and shoulders. She saw slits in its sides that flexed and revealed an orange and purple underside. When they moved, they made an exhaling sound that made Gwen shudder. A thin reptilian tail twitched behind it. Its five fingered, clawed hands brushed a sprig of thin white hair behind one of its oddly human ears.

"It is good to see you again, lovely Gwen," it said in its horrible voice.

Gwen's blood ran cold at those words. There was only one person who called her that.

"Michael?" she gasped in disbelief, her hand flying to her lips.

The more she looked at him, the more she could see imprints of humanity on the abomination before her. Its body had the vague outline of a human male. Its arms were distended, but clearly human arms linked by webbing. When it flexed its hands, Gwen could see the toothed mouths in his palms. Even his feet were distortions of human limbs. She could see the way the instep had been stretched unnaturally and she suddenly feared she would not be able to contain the contents of her stomach. It was all such an unnatural contortion of the natural, human body that the fact that such a creature existed seemed to offend her on an atomic level.

"You do recognize me, that's good. I wasn't sure you would. I know. The Plumber was supposed to put me in the Null Void. I was supposed to go away forever. That didn't happen. You see Gwen, I've figured out something. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger,"

He said it with a tinge of madness in his distorted voice and Gwen wished she had the strength to bolt from the room. Michael reached for her with a twisted claw and Gwen immediately put a pink mana barrier between them.

"Don't touch me!" she growled angrily.

His nonexistent lips somehow managed to pull back into a disturbing smile, revealing the very human teeth in his skeletal face. He chuckled and Gwen found the noise akin to breaking glass...like the breaking glass in the car. Where was Kevin? Was he alright? What had this...thing...done with him? In a flash, she had her wits about her again.

"Where's Kevin?" she demanded, sounding very sure of herself. Hopefully, a lot more sure of herself that she actually felt.

"That's not part of the game!" Michael hissed at her.

"I don't like games. Let me go," Gwen said, trying to sound even...reasonable.

"No," came the short reply.

"What do you want me for then?" Gwen asked.

He trilled then, a peculiar sound that Gwen had never heard anything make. He brought his horrible face close to the mana between them.

"You are very beautiful,"

"And flattery will get you nowhere, Michael," Gwen said, stressing his name, reminding him that she understood who exactly she was dealing with.

The gill slits in his sides huffed, their inside colors standing out starkly from his pale skin.

"What makes you think I'm trying to get somewhere?"

His distorted voice made him sound annoyed.

Gwen raised an eyebrow.

"Please...it is you we're talking about. You always have an angle. You're always using people for whatever you want," she said cooly.

There was a snarl from her captor and clawed fingers were slashing at her mana field in an instant. He grabbed it, as if trying to pull it off of her. His head cocked to the side and he pressed his palms against the bubble in an attempt to leech her shield away. It seemed to work for a few seconds before the scent of burning flesh reached her nostrils.

"Your hands!" she shouted.

"Do you think it matters to me? Look at what you're dealing with!" he laughed in a terrible way that made Gwen truly afraid of him. He was right. What did he have to lose?

She frowned and dropped the shield. Michael fell forward, straight into a mana blast that knocked him against the wall. Gwen leaped off the bed, and bolted for the door. She heard maniacal laughter echoing around her.

"That was good. But not nearly good enough," he cackled.

Something wrapped around Gwen's feet and pulled them out from under her. She fell and had the wind knocked out of her. As she gasped for air, she clawed at the carpet, trying to pull herself forward, but something much stronger pulled her back. She reached down to free her feet, but found them tangled in webbing. Mike's clawed hand seized hers. Gwen felt the dry, cool flesh against her own and it made her skin crawl.

"What are you?" she asked, voice desperate.

"I'm not so sure anymore. A little of this, a little of that," he said playfully.

"Let me go! I have to find Kevin, he could be hurt! This is all your fault! You caused the accident didn't you?"

Mike rolled his black eyes.

"I can't help it if your boyfriend pays more attention to you than the road...not that I blame him though," the chimera snickered.

Gwen slapped him across the face with her free palm.

A strange calm overcame the creature that held her. It reached up tentatively with its own hand and touched where she had struck it, as if to prove she had actually done so.

"You...you touched me," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"You could say that. Let me go or I'll do it again," she threatened.

"Would you?"

His voice sounded peculiar...almost desperate, as if she had offered him a million dollars.

"Yes!" she insisted.

With a snarl, he squeezed her wrist and pulled her closer. Gwen shrieked and slapped him again. He let go of her this time and Gwen's hands immediately were alight with mana. She braced herself for a fight, but one never came.

The thing didn't move from where it stood. It stared forward dumbly, with one of its twisted hands pressed against its cheek. Its eyes were wide and watery.

"Michael?" she asked.

"Thank you," was all he said.

Gwen raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"How long has it been, Gwen? How long since I saw you last?" he asked.

"A little over a year I think. I don't know," she answered.

"It feels so much longer," he said wistfully and slid to the ground. leaning his near skeletal body against the wall for support.

"Michael, are you alright?"

"As fine as can be expected, much more so now that you're here, Lovely Gwen,"

He sounded tired. He drew his tail up around his ankles.

Gwen paused and felt the mana in her hands flicker away. He looked so pathetic, curled against the wall like that. Gwen studied him for a moment and found there wasn't anything left of the handsome teenage boy who had originally endangered her. This...thing was something...someone else entirely. He was forlorn and lonely, ugly and pitiful.

"You won't stay, will you?" he asked, not meeting her gaze.

Gwen's face fell.

"Kevin will be looking for me. He'll be worried. He probably thinks you wanted to hurt me," she explained.

"I don't blame him. I would too, you know, look for you, that is,"

Gwen wasn't sure how to respond.

"I know," was all she could come up with.

"I'm glad you know,"

Gwen felt her skin crawl again.

Michael reached a clumsy, clawed hand into his pocket and pulled out her Plumber's badge. With a shaking hand, he passed it to her.

"I activated the tracer a little over an hour ago. He should be here any minute," he said, sounding utterly defeated.

Gwen gasped.

"Why...why would you do that?" she asked.

Before he could answer, there was a crash from the next room. In an instant, the door was broken down and Kevin had burst through the door. Gwen tried to talk to them, tried to get him to listen to her. Kevin dove at the creature against the wall and pounded it. He hadn't even absorbed anything, he just kept hitting it. The blows made sick, wet sounding impacts.

"Kevin! Kevin stop!" Gwen pleaded.

To her amazement, he did. He dropped the thing's limp, bloodied body to the floor. It didn't get up...it didn't even move. Gwen swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Did that thing hurt you? Did it do anything to you? Are you alright?" Kevin asked.

Gwen felt his warm, strong hands around her, feeling her all over and cupping her face tenderly. It all felt so comforting. She trembled and burst into tears, burying her head into his shoulder.

"Come on, let's get out of here," he said.

Gwen nodded wordlessly and allowed Kevin to lead her out of the dark house.

The two left, passing bones, cobwebs and broken furniture on the way out. When they exited the front and walked back to Kevin's car, the sun had just started to rise. Gwen looked at the house and realized with a sickening feeling that it was the abandoned house in her own neighborhood. Its owners had left it vacant and moved out a little over a year....Gwen froze and her eyes widened in fear and understanding. Kevin noticed.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's not over," Gwen said fearfully.

"Sure it is, I killed it," Kevin said, sounding very sure of himself.

"Did you?" Gwen asked.

"I thinks so," Kevin said, shrugging.

On the floor in the bedroom, things had already begun to knit themselves back together in a new way.


	9. What The Doctor Ordered

What The Doctor Ordered

By Chibi Hime

The Null Void.

It was cold, empty and desolate. There wasn't anything there to feed on. Oh, there were things there, just nothing that would let him get close enough for him to leech off of without trying to eat him. Irony of Ironies. He'd tried to use his new method of feeding as well...and...nothing doing. The things here, even the little things, were resistant to his draining.

Slowly but surely, he was starving to death and there was nothing he could do about it.

Mike licked his dry lips and used his gloved hands to rub his shoulders. The air nipped at his warped features. He hadn't bothered finding a replacement for his mask. There wasn't anyone there to see him. Soon enough, he wouldn't have to worry about it ever again. There wasn't even any wind in this place, it was just so deathly quiet that the could hear himself breathe and it sounded a lot louder than he knew it was.

"Excuse me lad, have we met yet?"

An English accented voice piped up behind him and nearly made Mike jump out of his skin. He spun around to find a man in a lab coat standing nonchalantly behind him. The stranger frowned.

"Mmmm...I guess not. I'm sorry, Mike old chap, but I do lose track of timelines and such. You've got it lucky, what with only have to keep up with one. Tell me, are you a werewolf here too or is that only in that dimension two timelines over? Gumball?"

The man offered him a small paper bag.

Hunger screamed in Mike's ears, alerting him to the fact that this was a human being. He could feed off of it. The stranger seemed to recognize the crazed look and shook his head.

"Oh, no! I don't think that's wise. I'm certain feeding off of an inter-dimensional being such as myself would be quite painful. In your obviously nutrition depleted state, that's just not a good idea,"

The statement did cause Mike to pause.

"Obviously nutrition depleted state?" he asked.

The man nodded.

"Just look at you. Nothing but skin and bones,"

It was the wrong thing to say and what Mike did in response was the wrong thing to do.

He took a wild swing at the man who seemed to disappear and reappear beside him in the blink of an eye. Mike fell forward onto the ground, skinning his chin. He hissed.

The strange man clicked his tongue.

"Ouch. That doesn't look pleasant. Say, you haven't seen a hideous amalgam of aliens around here have you?"

Mike shoved himself up.

"A What? Who are you?" he demanded, exasperated.

"Haven't we met?" the man asked again.

"NO!"

"Oh, terribly sorry. I forget. I am called Paradox and you are Michael Morningstar, albeit an under the weather one. You really should eat something boy, you are wasting away,"

"I know who I am...was. How do you know me?"

"We'll meet later officially. You look a lot more robust then. I give your wife credit for that, though," the man said offhandedly.

"My wi-...?" Mike couldn't bring himself to finish his own inquiry.

"She's a darling little thing if I do say so. Don't know what she sees in either of you, but that's beside the point. Have you seen a hideous amalgam of aliens around here? You would know it if you saw it,"

"No,"

"Oh bother, I was sure this was the right spot. It must be the wrong time. Say, someone in your condition shouldn't be here. You could catch cold. Let me drop you off somewhere before I go,"

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, that would be nice," he scoffed.

"Very well then,"

The man placed a hand on Mike's shoulder, sending a shudder through him. It had been a long time since he had seen, much less touched anyone. Without even realizing they had gone anywhere, Mike noticed the air smelled wet and green. He looked around and noticed the two of them were standing in an orange grove.

"Where are we now?" he asked.

"Florida of course. The Sunshine State! You look like you could use a little sun...and orange juice. They have both in spades!" the stranger said, hitting Mike on the back sharply.

"Ta-ta now. Must get back to finding my little lost time space anomaly," the man said before disappearing.

Just disappearing. There was no bang or poof. He was just gone.

Mike shrugged and looked around. At least it was warmer and...his home planet here. In the distance, the sun was rising and he could see a road. His stomach growled and his other hunger gnawed at his every cell. Sighing, he headed towards road.

Roads led to more than one form of sustenance.


	10. Likig

Likig

By Chibi Hime

He liked to pull his fingers through her hair. It was like a silky waterfall. A white, silky waterfall. Right now, there wasn't anything he wanted to do more than drag his thin fingers through her long hair. Mike reached over in the bed and found her spot empty. He ran it up and down and opened his eyes when he found it was cold.

She was gone.

Mike frowned.

He wasn't worried. She came and went as she pleased, but always came back. It was odd. He'd never asked her to stay and she'd never asked if she could. Neither one of them were very good at communication. They weren't "people" people. It didn't usually matter.

The cell phone on the nightstand buzzed loudly. Mike turned over and watched it ring. It was a secure wireless signal. Only five people knew this number. He reached over and picked it up. The screen read "Blocked." That narrowed the five down to two. With a groan, Mike reached over and picked it up.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Likig," came the response from the other line.

Mike's face screwed into a scowl. Only one person used that term. It was quite possibly the person he had the least interest in talking to.

"Good Morning, Alessa," he said.

"It is afternoon, Likig," the female voice spat at him, disdain dripping off of every syllable.

He didn't respond. There wasn't any point.

"Listen closely, Likig. I'm sure even you are aware of what day tomorrow is,"

"Yes," he answered.

"There is an envelope taped to your door. It contains a severance package. Make it last,"

"Compassion? From you? I think you've been feeding off of humans too long, it is starting to show,"

There was a snarl and a long barrage of alien obscenities from the other end of the connection. He held the phone away from his ear. No need to put up with her more than necessary.

There was a click from the other end and the noise stopped. Mike frowned and put the phone back down. He heard the door open and close. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. The timing was just too convenient. He slid quietly out of bed, glad that he had fallen asleep with his pants on. He pulled on a shirt that was left on the floor and eased out of the bedroom.

There was a loud rustling of plastic bags from his makeshift kitchen. He peered around the corner to find Charmcaster unpacking grocery bags. Mike smiled. There was something amusing about her not needing a key to get in. He'd never given her one because there wasn't a point. She could open any door and he had never told her she wasn't welcome.

She sensed his movement and looked in his direction.

"Hey, What's with the commando sneaking routine? Who else would be here?" she said smiling.

Mike shook it off.

"No one,"

"Hey, who is 'Likig'?" she asked, holding up an envelope.

Mike's blood ran cold.

"That's what mother calls me lately. Where did you get that?"

"It was taped to the door when I came home," she answered.

He snatched it out of her hand and tore it open. A check fluttered to the floor, as did a letter of formal legal disownment. That's what it was. Underneath all the flowery wording, it was a "you aren't my son anymore" letter. He picked them both up and looked at them briefly before shoving them into his pockets. The check was sizable, a few million, he could make that last.

"What was that?" Charmcaster asked.

"A birthday greeting from my mother," he said, unenthusiastically.

Charmcaster's eyes lit up.

"Awww, that's sweet," she commented.

Mike only nodded. Charmcaster felt a dark energy exude from him.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing,"

"Don't you know that saying 'nothing' in this situation makes me want to know what was in that?"

"Have a look," he mumbled, tossing her the letter.

The witch's face turned questioning. While she got the gist, she couldn't make sense of half of the letter as it was written in broken English and some unfamiliar alien tongue.

"Michael, what does 'likig' mean?" she asked.

"Please don't say it out loud," he asked.

"Sorry. That bad, huh?" she asked.

Mike paused. How did one explain an alien slur, much less one in a dialect that was virtually unknown?

"It is a slur," he answered.

"For what?" she asked.

"Offspring," he stated.

"Come on. That's not a slur. What does it really mean?" Charmcaster questioned, nudging him playfully.

"Miscarriage," he answered.

Charmcaster's face paled.

"What?" she asked, disbelieving. She had thought it was an alien pet name.

"It means: disappointing, miscarriage, abortion, offspring, all depending on how it is used," he explained.

"No. No, no, no!" she stated. It was like she was arguing with someone who wasn't there.

"Look, she can think whatever she wants, I don't care," Mike mumbled.

"But it is not true!" Charmcaster insisted.

It made Mike freeze up.

He wasn't a people person. He wasn't used to anyone standing up for him. He didn't know how to respond to that. Half of him didn't deal with that kind of emotion and the other half had never been taught how. One half of his mind saw her argument, it was a cruel word. The other half sided with Alessa. He was a disappointment, a tainted, foul thing. Both were right and he found himself unable to choose a side rationally. Human emotions were more potent in his corrupted state and they pulled him to do out of character things that he didn't understand.

"Michael, she's wrong. Don't listen to her,"

"I don't" he scoffed.

He did. A part of him did. That simpering, lesser half of his wanted to throw his arms around the witch and ask her what she thought of him because she was the one he really cared about. His other, better, more reasonable half wanted to burn the letter.

That half won. He was more familiar with it. He plucked the letter out of Charmcaster's hands and took it over to the sink. He pulled open a drawer and took out a box of matches.

He felt the witch wrap her arms around his waist. His other half was elated.

He felt her press her face against his back.

"I don't think that. I want to stay,"

She wasn't a people person either. Her words were clumsy, but at least she said them. Unlike someone else in the room. He wouldn't mention any names.

"I know," he answered.

His other half scratched at his brain as the letter in the sink crumpled and darkened from the small flames. Now or never. He'd ruin everything if he didn't listen to his human side.

"I want you to," he admitted.

He could have sworn she squeezed the remaining life out of him after he said it.


	11. Balancing The Equation

Balancing The Equation

By Chibi Hime

There had always been opposing forces in the universe. They gave each other meaning. Without the presence of one, the other could not be defined.

He had the unique position of having been able to walk in the path of the light and the darkness, the sun and the moon. He had always been a Star. Morning or Dark.

He found he preferred the darkness now. His new alias wasn't just a clever name. The darkness wasn't as garish as the golden light of the day. It was calm, cool, and elegant.

It was comforting, trustworthy.

It wouldn't reveal his secrets for the world's prying eyes to see. It wouldn't lay bare everything he tried to hide. It wouldn't leave him exposed to the mundane people who presumed to know everything about the universe when they knew nothing. The darkness covered him up in a soft, comforting blanket, him and all his secrets.

The light was a cruel master, burning and scorching everything it came into contact with. The darkness was kind. It soothed and bandaged without asking for anything in return.

For awhile, he was alone in the dark.

Then there was another.

Her hair shone silver like the moon, so different that Gwen's fiery, burning sun red. They were so unlike each other. Gwen was kind, She was forceful. Gwen was compassionate and merciful, She was steely and unyielding. She was beautiful. He likes spending time with Her. They fit together perfectly. Like the moon and the stars.

He's heard stories about what Levin used to be. Not just a tech dealer, not just an ex-con.

What Levin really used to be.

A being of darkness. Something that once upon a time, must have hidden from the sun as well.

Now, Levin is a being of light. He does good deeds and saves the day. Levin has Gwen. They fit together like two bright stars. Like two suns.

He laughed to himself maniacally. Laughs to himself still.

It all makes sense.

Everything balances out.

Scales have to be tipped back and forth to maintain balance in the universe.

He likes to know that they are opposites. Necessary opposites. There is meaning and purpose to what He has been through, what He has become.

It is pure science.

It is just balancing the equation.


	12. The Trouble With Friends

The Trouble With Friends

By Chibi Hime

"I wanted a dog,"

That's all six year old Mike could say when his father presented him with a small brown rabbit. He felt his father's heavy, large hand on his slight shoulder.

"I know, Sport. We'll work you up to dog. That's a lot of responsibility for a kid. Tell you what, you take care of motor nose there and we'll talk about a dog in a few years, okay?"

Mike can't do anything but nod. There was no arguing with father. The older man patted him on the back and walked away. Mike knelt before the cage and stared into the little creature's wide black eyes. Its nose twitched up and down as the two regarded each other. Mike nodded to himself. A rabbit was a lot closer than a dog than a goldfish, which is what his father could have gotten him. Yes, a rabbit would do nicely.

Mike opened the cage and reached inside. At first, the rabbit cowered in the corner and dragged its feet when he reached for it. The creature kicked and clawed at him, leaving thin scratches on his soft, pale hands, but he eventually got the creature out and held it against him. Mike could feel its little heart pounding against its chest and he felt sorry for it...before remembering that he shouldn't feel sorry for anything. That was a human emotion. There was only "do", there was no "sorry".

He cupped the rabbit and scratched its head. Eventually, it relaxed.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, feeling the velvety softness of its ears and the warm pulse of its life force flow through its body. It was warm and soft, things all human children desire. Even the half breed ones.

"I'm going to call you Narcissus," Mike informed the rabbit.

Its velvety nose moved up and down and it shook its head.

Over the next few months, Mike took care of the little rabbit. He started treating it like the dog he had wanted. He put it on a leash and walked it around the large back yard. He snuck it treats after bedtime. He even carried it around in the pocket of his coat. When his father died, he had Narcissus in the pocket of his large black mourning coat. Whenever he felt the need to cry, something mother highly disproved of, he'd feel the softness of the rabbit's fur and he'd feel comforted. His father gave him Narcissus, after all. Why shouldn't he be there too?

A year to the day he had Narcissus.

It started out like any other afternoon. Mike, now seven, came home from school, fed and watered his little pet, did his homework and came out to play with him. Like hundreds of times before, he picked up the rabbit, which came to him willingly now. It felt warmer than usual. It made his hand hot. Too hot. It made his hand glow.

Mike gasped and the rabbit suddenly fell slack in his hands. Its fur faded from dark brown to grey. Its body went limp. It was cold. There was no little heartbeat against his fingers. When Mike went to touch Narcissus, a large clump of fur fell out.

Mike screamed.

His mother came running and all he could do was hold up the little body. She rolled her eyes, pulled it out of his hands and threw it in the garbage. Mike's heart fell to feet.

"I'll get you another one tomorrow, Michael. Be careful how much you feed off the next one," she said, as if it all made perfect sense.

"Feed?" he asked questioningly.

His mother threw her arms around him happily.

"I'm so proud of you! You're taking after my side at last! I was so worried that you'd be more human than-oh! It doesn't matter! I'll get you whatever you want! You wanted a dog right? Those are more robust pets anyway. I'll get you whatever you want,"

That's all she said. She hugged and kissed him, but Mike felt sick to his stomach. Narcissus was dead. Dead because of him. He hadn't meant to do it.

"I don't want a dog! I want Narcissus!" he sobbed into her shoulder.

"Michael! Such a display over something you ate for dinner,"

"No, I didn't mean it," he choked.

"Oh...I'm sorry sweetie, I forget your feelings sometimes, troublesome things. You didn't cry over the fish we had for dinner did you?" she asked

"N-no," he sniffed.

"Well, it isn't any different. Food is food," his mother offered.

Narcissus wasn't food. He hadn't meant to. Mother couldn't understand. It wasn't her fault. She just couldn't understand.

"Okay," he said, wiping his tears.

It was the first of many lies to himself and others.

That night, Mike dug Narcissus' body out of the garbage and put it in a shoebox with a few toys and carrots. He buried it in the backyard and never told a soul about it. He envied his mother then, and all her kind. They didn't feel sorrow the same way he did. They were sorry things weren't there anymore, but after a few days, things were no longer missed. Mike was different. While he heavily favored his mother, his father's traits were inside him, where no one else could see. His father's death had been hard on the, but Narcissus had helped him cope with it. Now Narcissus was dead and he was alone. Uniquely alone.

That was the trouble with him.

That was the trouble with friends.

He kept those feelings to himself, drown them out with everything his mother ever taught him. He stopped listening to human feelings, as they didn't seem to cause anything but pain. It was easier to live without them, easier to live with the superfluous leanings of his alien mother. It was how he managed, how he got through life.

For awhile anyway.


	13. Night Conversations

Night Conversations

By Chibi Hime

A hand hit Mike square in the face.

As he blinked his way to consciousness, he felt someone thrashing in the bed next to him.

Another rough night.

Usually it was him who had the nightmares, but lately he didn't have the chance. Charmcaster had been crawling into his bed after he had already fallen asleep and then waking him up around three in the morning with her night terrors. Previous nights, he had solved the problem by grasping her wrist and draining some of her energy. He'd only left a single eight pointed star mark on each arm in the last week. It wasn't enough to do anything...at least he didn't think so. She hadn't been clingy at all, but he didn't want to risk it either.

The slope was unbelievably slippery.

He settled for putting an arm around her and gently "shushing" her. Her struggles became less violent and eventually stopped. Her breathing evened out and she continued to sleep.

Mike smiled to himself.

He didn't even use his powers that time.

He didn't go back to sleep. He just stared at her for a moment.

"Who are you? What kind of trouble are you in if, geez, you come to someone like me for help? What's after you?" he whispered, brushing a lock of her white hair behind her ear.

She shifted at his touch and rolled over away from him. Mike swallowed before doing the same.

"We can talk about this later," he whispered reassuringly.

It didn't matter really. If it reared its ugly head, he'd beat it into submission.

He was good at things like that.

He scooted closer to Charmcaster's warm body before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.


End file.
